For The Love Of The King
by TheLadyTudor
Summary: Anne Boleyn awaits her death in the Tower of London. These are her final thoughts and one final desperate attempt to tell her beloved Elizabeth of her innocence and her eternal love for her and her father, the King of England.


**_A/N: Hey! Yes I do realise that I said on my profile that I would not be writing anymore fanfics but the idea for this and the sequel that will follow if I get a good response came over me and as I do love the showtime series The Tudors and the wonderful Anne Boleyn I thought I would give it a go. Please please tell me what you think of this one and if I get enough response I will write the oneshot sequel which will be Elizabeth herself finding the letter when she is locked in the Tower during the reign of her sister Mary. Now I have gone on enough please review!!! Everything is welcome!_**

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing...this is just for entertainment..._**

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For The Love Of The King

_May 18th 1536_

Anne Boleyn. Queen of England. It was always strange idea, my name and that title, together as one. Yet as I sit here, in this lonely harsh room in the Tower of London my mind races over all the things that have happened in the few short years that the title has been mine. The final victory as the crown that I had waited so long for was placed atop my head, the short time when everything was perfect exactly how I ever dreamed it would be and then... Then it all turned sour. My heart has been broken and I have been betrayed by the one man who raised me higher than any woman in England.

King Henry. My sovereign, my lover, my husband and the man that severed my heart and will cause my last breath. We once were unstoppable, me and him against the world no matter what any other person said. We fought so hard against that defiant, stubborn woman Katherine of Aragon and the corrupt Papacy and, it seemed at times, the whole world just to have the right to live as man and wife. The burning passion and tender love we shared was nothing like anything else on this earth. I think back to every second of blissful togetherness that is cherished inside my memory. I am sure that if he tried Henry would remember that time to.

But instead he chooses to shut out those sweet memories and listen to people who feed him lies about me with malicious intent. I have been charged with treason, with adultery with so many men. None of it was true, it was all court gossip and anyone who said differently were liars, and they knew they were. But that didn't matter because Henry had wanted to believe what they were saying about me even though he knew it would leave him with no choice but to end my life if I was found guilty. He had even, through that bastard Cromwell fornicated piteous evidence that was used against me in my staged trail.

The testimonies of my ladies-in-waiting frightened into saying something, anything that would stop the relentless interrogation that Cromwell had put them through. The evidence given by my brother's wife Jane Boleyn, a woman scorned by my brother's many affairs and although I never would have thought it, capable sending her sister-in-law to her death just to get her revenge. The confession of a man put through so much torture that he had to be carried to his execution.

Poor Mark he had suffered so much and held out longer than I ever would have expected him to. He was never anything more than a friend to me. I was so lonely sometimes at court and he was one of the few people I could talk to. He was in so much pain... but at least the relief of death has set him free now. As with the others who were unjustly condemned.

Norris that sweet-natured silly little man that I had never had any contact with aside from when he visited my chambers to court Madge Shelton. And Brereton the groom from my husband's household whose confession was perhaps the most perplexing because I have never spoken more than a few words to him in my lifetime and if anything I got the distinct impression that he was a supporter of the old ways and so inevitably was an enemy of mine.

And then there was my brother. My dear brother George. The idea that people thought that I would be capable of doing something like that with my own brother makes me feel physically sick and angry to because it is such an outrageous allegation that all must surely know that there is no truth to it. It breaks my heart to think he died because of my husband.

Just yesterday I watched them all die, their heads cut from their bodies and their blood left to flow. They had all lost their lives for a complete and utter lie.

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I know why Henry is doing this. He wishes me to be gone, for him to be free to marry and sire sons on that blonde-haired, meek little whore Jane Seymour. No doubt he is with her now remarking inside his head on how very different she is to me and how lucky he is to have met her. Well if she ever does manage to give him a son he will be as weak as his mother. It is so strange and painful to think that Henry must not only be yearning for the time when he can marry his whore but also for time when my death will allow it.

I cannot pretend that it does not cause me great pain to even think that the man I love wants me to die and not only that is willing to make it happen himself. I am no fool of course I knew that things were not good, he no longer showed to me the devotion we once shared for one another and my miscarriages had worried him and he chose to spend his nights elsewhere but never in my wildest nightmares did I ever imagine that he would want me dead. How can that happen? How can the man that loved me with such a fiery even dangerous affection have changed his feelings towards me so much?

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As I stare blankly out of my tiny window at the grey sky up above I feel all the turmoil of pain, anger, love and sadness quieten inside of me as the image of my beautiful little girl Elizabeth crosses my minds-eye. I realise despite everything else that is the reason why I most wish that my life could be spared. So that I may see her, my darling the pearl of my world grow up into the formidable woman that she must surely become. It stabs at my heart to think that in years to come she may not remember me at all and the stories told to her will blacken my name until she comes to feel ashamed that my blood flows through her veins. I can only pray that someone, anyone will speak kindly of me to my daughter and tell her the truth. But the chances of someone doing that are so small...

I feel the first tears begin to prick at my eyes. No matter what happens, no matter what anyone tells her the fact that Elizabeth is my daughter will always be a disadvantage to her. Anger flames in my breast at the unfairness that even though I am innocent of the charges laid against me my sweet daughter will suffer because there will always be those despise me and my memory and so will be willing to punish my blameless daughter merely because she is mine.

A maid whose name I do not know because she has only been in my service since I came to the tower approaches me. I see the concern in her eyes and the pity. I do not want her to pity me.

"Madam, are you alright? Can I fetch you anything?" she asks timidly.

I almost say no and dismiss her for a while so that I may be left to my pain in peace without seeing the sympathy in her eyes all the time but an idea crosses my mind. A desperate idea that I have no doubt will not work but I know will allow me to rest easier if I try it.

"Yes actually. Fetch me some parchment and a quill if you please." I see the look of uncertainness cross over her face and I know what she is thinking. Is she allowed that? I felt myself hoping that she would not say no and crush my hope or else delay it by saying she must check with Master Kingston. But the maid seemed to have come to decision.

"Yes madam of course." And with that she bowed quickly and walked swiftly from the room to fetch what I had commanded.

As I watch her go I think to myself what I shall put in this letter I am to write. And if I do manage to complete it how will my sweet darling Elizabeth ever be able to read it?

At that time the maid came back into the room and laid the items out on the desk in front of me and without saying a word curtsied and left the room. She no doubt could sense that I wish to be left alone. I appreciate it as well because I know that strictly speaking I should be accompanied at all times.

I turn my attention back to the parchment and slowly I pick up the quill and begin to write...

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_My dearest Elizabeth,_

_I do not know whether you will ever receive this letter but if you do and you are reading this then I am probably no longer with you. _

_I wanted to tell you, in my own words just how much I love you and how proud I am of you. You, my sweet darling are the pearl of my world and the thing I will miss most about this life is my chance to see you grow into the beautiful, intelligent, strong woman you will one day become. _

_My sweetheart, do not ever doubt my love and devotion to you and please never feel that I wish you to be anything but exactly what you are. You are and always will be my perfect child. I plead with you Elizabeth, no matter what anyone might tell you about me, to understand that I have committed no offence against your father the King of England and the charges laid against me were false. Think not that I say this in contempt of His Majesty; indeed the King has always been and will be forever the love of my life and I am ever eternally grateful to him for bestowing the many honours he has on myself and for giving me the greatest gift of all; you. _

_I beg of you never feel ashamed of who you are and remember me as the devoted mother I always was to you. Be strong my beloved daughter and always know that I am with you, watching over and keeping you safe. _

_Pray for me._

_Your most beloved mother_

_Anne Boleyn_

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With a one last look over my finished letter I folded it in two and kissed it lightly. I will hide it away somewhere in this room and if ever it is found someone might just deliver it to its rightful recipient.

I realise that it is almost impossible that my Elizabeth will ever read those heart-felt words that I have just written in the letter but somehow it makes me feel somewhat at peace now that I have written it.

I get up and walk over to the window from which I can see the scaffold that will be the place where my blood will flow and I will draw my last breath. The letter is in my hand, the precious letter and I bend down and place it behind a lose stone in the wall.

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I do not feel frightened anymore. I have done all I can possibly do for my beloved daughter now and I know that I am ready. I am going to die. Tomorrow morning I will be received into Gods open arms and all the pain of this life will be left behind me.

I know in my heart that tomorrow, upon the moment of my death I will think of Henry and how much he loved me and how much I will always love him no matter what he has done. I will think of the darling child that our love created, Elizabeth.

And with that thought a strange knowledge came upon me. I realised that, despite everything if I was given the chance to go back in time and refuse when my father first asked me to place myself in front of the King of England with the hope of attracting his gaze, I would turn that chance down. I would never change the fact that I fell in love with the King and he fell in love with me and made me his wife. The sadness of the recent months and my eventual death are just a small price to pay for the glory of my journey. It had all been worth it, for the love of the King. Somehow I know that I am completely prepared.

Now there is nothing left for me to do other than pray.

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